Hell's Angels
by CeCe Away
Summary: Sam screamed, turning to fold Adam into his own body, offering what little protection he could as the thrust of pain speared his back.
1. Chapter 1

**Obviously I like the idea of Hellhounds and what Hell could really be like because I keep writing different stories about it. **

**This one is actually a request from Hotshow, who deserves most of the credit for it because she has it all plotted out. Girl has an awesome imagination. I just get to flesh it out the best I can. So Valerie, hope this comes close to what you are looking for. **

**Even though it begins with Sam in Hell and has dealings with Hellhounds, it's not a continuation of my story **_**"My Hellhound"**_** where Sam adopts one of Hell's puppies. This story stands completely on its own and is of course AU since all the fun stuff Season 6 is doing with missing souls doesn't apply here. **

**Usual disclaimer of not owning anything belonging to Supernatural, yadda yadda . . .**

**Hell's Angels**

Sam got it now. Why Dean was always so ready to throw himself into the path of danger, because now that Sam had a younger brother to protect . . . he understood. Sam sat in front of Adam who had wedged himself in the tunnel's rocky corner, shielding him with his own body. Exhausted, they'd been running for days, maybe weeks. Who could say with any certainty?

The Cage was a pit of illusion.

Tucked within the far reaches of Hell, the Cage became a fluid flowing prison that, depending on Lucifer's whim, could expand for miles and miles or be condensed into a tight box with barely room to house its four inhabitants. The Cage sometimes was an elegant mansion with plush furnishings, the softest pillows for their heads. Sometimes it was rivers of blood and flesh, groping Sam, ropes of intestines holding him tight to the rack while the Devil played. More often than not it was the rack. As Ruler of Hell, Lucifer had the power to manipulate the Cage into anything he desired, wave his hand and view any other part of Hell, watch the world above as the great Apocalypse dredged on without him . Lucifer had all power here, except the power to escape.

Right now, at least for Sam and Adam, the Cage was an endless labyrinth filled with ill-shaped monsters Satan had conjured that appeared to be slapped together from varying beasts, driven into a frenzy with the brothers' human scent.

Encumbered by their weaker human vessels, the two Archangels had immediately left the brothers ' bodies and tried to wing out of the pit before the fiery gate burned out, but even they couldn't make it out in time. At first Michael wouldn't tolerate Adam being hurt. Adam had been his willing vessel and being an Archangel, _The Archangel_, Michael was above such things. He'd go off alone, trying to seek revelation from the Heaven that had forsaken him. Apparently with enough time and solitude, even Archangels could drift into depression until Sam's shouts and pleas for the angel to get the Devil away from Adam fell on despondent ears.

"Sam?" Adam's voice quivered. His fingers curled around the hem of Sam's T-shirt. Growls and the heavy stomping of running feet echoed through the tunnels. The hoard had picked up their trail again.

Turning, Sam looked into a lighter version of his own eyes, his throat tightening. He hadn't known Adam in life, but they'd spent a lifetime, several lifetimes, together here, bringing small moments of respite to the other as they whispered about their lives before, each desperately trying to hold on and ground themselves to the person they once were. Sam grasped onto every word Adam spoke about John, a completely different man than the father he had known. And every once in a while the kid would say something outrageous that sounded so much like Dean, Sam's heart would clench.

He never tired of hearing of Kate and what it was like for Adam to have a mother, even after Lucifer overheard them and devised a little game of have-Sam-relive-being-eaten-by-ghouls, forcing Adam to watch versions of himself and his mom chow down.

The growls grew closer. Sam pushed himself to his feet, pulling Adam with him. They were beat to hell and wouldn't be able to take more than ten steps, but Sam vowed to do whatever it took to keep his younger sibling from getting torn to shreds again, despite it being inevitable. So yeah, even though it was hopeless and stupid and beyond pointless, Sam stood in front of Adam, pushing the kid back with his own body. He understood Dean now, because even though he'd seen Adam endure horrendous things and knew he was tough enough to stand on his own and would be brought back in one piece again anyway, that instinct to protect overcame any pragmatism.

And just like Sam would have roared at Dean to not be stupid, to let him help, Adam was shoving at Sam's back, trying to break free, but it was too late, the monsters were on them.

Except . . . not the monsters. Worse. So much worse. Every muscle in Sam's body suddenly locked up in paralyzing fear.

Hellhounds.

Racing straight for them. Midnight black, glistening, gigantic hounds, flashing red eyes and wide gnashing teeth, but all Sam could see was Dean on a hardwood floor sprouting blood and gashes. Lucifer had finally found the one game that Sam's mind wouldn't be able to recover from. He could not watch this again. He could not survive Hellhounds ripping into another brother.

A guttural snarl cleaved the charged air as the monsters burst out of the blacker darkness. The first upon them, an ox-headed grizzly type of beast, slashed out at Sam at the same time a Hellhound flew across the cavern, taking the ox-head down, and it became a savage free-for-all, Hellhounds and monsters in a brutal struggle to see who could get to the brothers first.

Another monster broke free, serrated beak and stiletto claws, racing toward the boys, a Hellhound inches behind, muzzle snapping.

"Noooooo!" Sam screamed, turning to fold Adam into his own body, offering what little protection he could as the thrust of pain speared his back, followed by the second and third, more, spreading across his body as his screams jumbled together with growls and shrieks and snarls spitting through the air behind him until he couldn't differentiate between the noises and he felt himself falling, dragging Adam down with him because he wouldn't let go, not ever, not when his own body could keep the beasts off of his brother. He curled in tight around the kid while his flesh was gouged away from his back and arms and legs and Adam screamed his name, trying to push him off, but it didn't matter anymore because there were too many monsters pressed over them now, crushing them both down, so while Adam cried and Sam was torn to pieces above him, Sam's hand clawed the dirt beneath them in defiance. He had kept the Hellhounds off of Adam. Lucifer wouldn't win this one.

Lucifer wouldn't win.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Samuel."

Sam blinked, vision blurring, trying to grasp where he was, what part of the Cage this was, what new torture the Devil had for him now. He was surprised he'd been allowed to sleep. Many times after one game played out, leaving him bloodied and broken, Lucifer insisted that Sam remained awake, cautioned that the moment he loss unconscious that Adam would be placed on the rack. The longer Sam could hold out, he won a less brutal treatment for his brother. So Sam forced himself awake for days, weeks maybe- time in Hell was weird, unstable—while his ruined body screamed for rest and his mind splintered.

A cool hand lay above Sam's forehead. Every joint ached. His back felt like it was on fire. Though it was no longer shredded, he no longer bled, the residue of pain lingered like a smear on his bones. Satan's torture was like that. He'd always heal Sam eventually, sometimes quickly, sometimes more slowly, and sometimes he'd let the memory of pain continue for weeks even while the scars were gone. Sometimes Sam would carry that pain into the next round where it would compound with what was to come.

The haziness receded, wavering on a bright figure above him. He lay on a downy mattress, nearly sinking into its softness.

"Samuel." The figure was calling to him, a voice like water flowing over pebbles.

Sam blinked, bringing the man into focus. "Michael?" he rasped.

The archangel's golden curls swayed forward as he leaned closer from where he sat on the side of Sam's bed. Crystal blue eyes studied Sam as though he was a riddle that couldn't be solved.

"Wh-where's Adam?"

"With Lucifer."

Sam's chest clenched. He tried to get up, but the angel easily pressed him back down.

"Calm yourself, Samuel. My vessel merely entertains the Serpent with chess." Michael swept his arm out and Sam's gaze followed the movement toward the other side of the opulent room where two golden wingback chairs faced each other over a table and ornate chess board with pieces formed of spun tourmaline. Sitting in the chair with his back to them, Sam could only see Lucifer's elbow on the armrest, and the glossy top of his ebony hair while Adam faced him, scowling at the board in heavy concentration.

"What are they playing for?"

Adam was smart, yet neither of the brothers had yet to beat the Devil and even these simple board games cost extra mileage on the rack. Sam felt his breathing hitch up, thinking about what Satan would come up for Adam once the young man lost.

Michael eased back from Sam. "Adam won't be harmed. He plays for you."

"Me?"

"A few extra moments of peace for you."

"No, Adam." Sam ground his head back against the soft mattress. "Why? Why would he do that?"

Michael's head cocked to the side, graceful, almost like a bird. "Why did you shield Adam from Satan's hoard?"

Sam's brows scrunched together. "What?"

"Adam would have been healed, just as you have. You could have allowed him to share in your pain, let a portion of the hoard's fury be focused on him as well. It was a hopeless sacrifice, yet you still did it. Explain to me. What was the point?"

Sam stared at the angel, looking for the trap. What kind of twisted game was this? "No point. I just did it."

Michael appeared genuinely perplexed. "But why? Why did you? There is no purpose behind it."

What was he looking for? And if Sam didn't have the correct answer, what then? He loses. "There doesn't have to be a purpose. I did it because he's my brother, all right! That's what brothers do."

Tiny crease lines marred the flawless skin between Michael's brows. His gaze slipped to the back of the chair Lucifer occupied. "Not all brothers."

Michael sighed. "I've contemplated much in our time here, seeking understanding."

_Yeah_, Sam thought, _dick abandoned Adam to the devil while he fled to his own despair._

"Lucifer was once the most beautiful of us, beloved among the Hosts of Heaven. Son of the Morning. All of Heaven wept when I thrust him down."

Sam said nothing.

"Yet watching you stand in front of your brother . . . when nothing of any importance hinges on it." Michael stood swiftly and started to pace. "Not obedience, nor rebellion, nor destiny. Yet . . . " Michael stilled, looked toward Lucifer again. "This was not meant to be our destiny."

Sam almost felt sorry for the archangel. He understood destiny. He understood the expectations of the entire universe weighing on him to fulfill his, to compliantly step forward and let Satan wear him to the apocalyptic meet and greet. Yet Michael had never had a Dean in his celestial existence to stand in front of him and give fate the long Winchester finger. Nor had Michael been a Dean to shield his own younger brother.

Sam turned his head on the mattress, looking the other way. He was still sore and growing weary of this conversation, of whatever diversion Michael was trying to play with him. He felt the bed dip as the archangel sat beside him once more.

"I . . ." the angel's voice was a whispered purr. "I am a being without a purpose."

Sam turned his head back to once again look at Michael. "It must feel uncomfortable for someone like you."

Michael's head tilted again. "Yes. That's the right word for it. Uncomfortable." He nodded his head in thought. "Samuel, I've contemplated your actions here . . . and Dean's before we fell. He would not leave you even though it meant his death."

Everything inside of Sam shivered, remembering his own fists battering Dean. He closed his eyes.

Michael's next words poured into him. "I've played for you, Samuel."

Sam's eyes shot open.

"Lucifer and I had our own battle of wits. I give you a few moments of rest."

"You won?"

Michael's smile was indulgent.

Hope fluttered inside Sam's chest. A few moments away from Lucifer. Moments could mean minutes or days. He'd take either, until his gaze settled on Adam and he swallowed. "I can't leave my brother alone with Lucifer." His bravado stated it as though he even had a choice.

Michael's brows drew together. "Again you would sacrifice for your brother."

Sam's mouth curved down like a shrug.

"Samuel," the angel said his name like a sigh. "I have much to redeem myself over treatment of my vessel. I give my word to you, Lucifer will not touch Adam again. Not ever."

Sam's breath slammed out of his lungs like a punch. Would Michael keep his promise or only until he fell back into an introspective funk? _God_, if Adam could be safe . . .

"You swear . . ." the words were out before he could stop them. "You'll keep him off the rack, away from the hoards? No Hellhounds will ever rip into him—"

"Hellhounds?" The angels eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Samuel, did you really not know? It was not Lucifer that sent the Hellhounds."

#

"Dean, you have to stop doing this." Lisa waved the latest computer printout of ancient sigils in his face, tears in her eyes. "It's killing you. It's killing us."

"Lise . . ." Dean swallowed, hating the anguish he was putting her through. "I can't . . . I can't just give up on him."

Lisa knelt in front of the chair Dean sat in, placed her arms over his knees. "I'm not asking for you to give up . . . just, I don't know. It's just, you've been trying for months and nothing has worked. You've put yourself in danger so many times over this . . . and I can't, I can't let you keep risking yourself for something that will never happen."

Dean flinched. Oh, it was going to happen. There was a way to get Sam out of the pit and promise or no promise, Dean was going to find it.

He covered Lisa's hands with his own. "He's locked inside a cage with Lucifer, having God knows what done to him every second of every day." He took a breath, easing the gruffness out of his tone. "If you think I would ever just leave him to that, then you don't know me well enough."

His search for a way was hurting her, he could see it in her posture, in the tremble of her lips. She didn't deserve this.

Her dark eyes swept up. She took a steadying breath. "Then when, Dean? When do you finally realize that there is nothing you can do? In six months? A year? It's Hell. It's too big, even for you." Her hands slipped onto his cheeks, her features pleading with him. "Please, please, stop this before . . ."

"Before what, Lise?" His heart pounded so loudly in his head he was surprised Lisa couldn't hear it.

She stood, whipped her arms out wide, then let them drop. "Before you look up one day . . . from this damn _crusade_ . . . and realize that everything good in your life—me, Ben—has slipped from your grasp for nothing. I love you, Dean, I do, but this . . ." she tossed the papers at him, where they separated and floated to the carpet like an unbreachable boundary between them. "I don't want to lose you, Dean, but I can't fight against this. I can't—" her voice broke on a sob. She covered her mouth.

Dean was out of the chair in a flash, stomping over the printouts to crush her in his arms, to just . . . fix her. But she flung up a hand, stopping him. "Just don't. Not right now. I can't . . ." Tears dripped onto her cheeks, twisting Dean's vocal cords into knots. Turning, Lisa fled out of the room.

"Lise . . ." Dean called after her, unsure of whether to go after her, make her see reason, or just . . . He sighed, scrubbed a weary hand down his face. He loved her, he did, God knows how much, and he had tried to leave it alone, keep his promise to Sam, live normal with a beautiful smart funny woman who had burrowed herself and her son within the wounded pocket of his soul, but it was still not enough to fill in the aching chasm where Sam used to reside.

Where he might never reside again.

His shoulders slumped. Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe this was hopeless. He'd tried everything, summoned more crossroad demons than he could shake a stick at, hunted down every Hell-bound monster he could find, pleaded with angels who never responded to threats or prayers, even Castiel, the absent dick. He'd learned more about Hell and demons and religious symbology in the past seven months than he'd ever wanted to know. Sam would be proud.

Even with Bobby researching, they hadn't come close to finding a way to spring his brothers.

He couldn't lose Lisa too. Tears prickled at his eyes. His chest hurt. He couldn't just give up on Sam. But what if she was right? What if everything he did never made a difference? Dean hung his head, feeling the weight of choices. Choices he couldn't make. He stared at the carpet, at the paper under his toe, a printout of a penciled drawing of a Hellhound.

He automatically shuddered, burying the paralyzing memory of canine teeth ripping into his chest, of being dragged from his body by sharp daggered teeth—the dizzying flight through darkness and fire gripped within crushing jaws as he was dragged through the gates of Hell.

Dean's mouth slid open on a rushed gasp. His fingers tingled, arms began shaking. _Hellhounds_. Guardians of the underworld with access to mortals, demons, all pathways and gateways within Hell, to every realm really, save Heaven. If Hellhounds could drag a soul into Hell, then they could just as easily drag one out.

His legs like jelly, Dean sank to his knees. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Dean punched in Bobby's number, waited impatiently for him to pick up and then ran over the man before the old hunter could even bark out a greeting. "Bobby. We need to find out everything we can about Hellhounds."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Sam lay in the long warm grass and gazed up at the fragments of blue sky he glimpsed between the long swaying branches and leaves of the giant oak stretched above him. None of it was real, the tree, the sky, the grass, the birdsong, but it was enough. Michael had won this respite for him, had waved his arm, which had taken them to this wondrous meadow, and then let Sam be.

Closing his eyes, Sam smoothed silky blades of grass between his fingers, let his palms sink into the cool soil, memorizing each sensation. Though relaxed and truly truly grateful for this tiny sliver of peace, Sam also knew enough to arm himself with it. Take the restfulness, the illusion of sun and sky and drifting clouds to bring with him to the next trial, new images his psyche could hold onto when Lucifer came at him again. The devil had broken his body, over and over and over, yet he hadn't yet stripped Sam of his mind.

A guttural exhalation washed across the still air.

Instantly alert, Sam's eyes flew open. The peace Michael won for him must be at an end and Lucifer was eager to play with him again. What would it be this time? Another round of cat and mouse with the Hoards? At least Adam wasn't here to endure it. Sam's hands curled in the grass, pleading to the very air that Michael would keep his promise to protect Adam.

Another exhalation rippled, closer this time.

Sam lifted his head and an instant fear clutched at his heart, a brutal painful squeeze. So it was to be Hellhounds again. They padded through the long grass, circling him like a pack of silent wolves. At least twenty of them, which was overkill even for Satan since it would only take one of the beasts to bring Sam down.

Slowly, Sam pulled to his feet. If he was going to be mauled, at least let him start out standing. It took everything in him not to run, to just let them come, but in the wide meadow there was nowhere to run to. Besides, maybe it would be quicker this way, just let this part end before he found himself placed on the rack once more.

The hounds drew closer, small red eyes glowing even in sunlight. Tears wet Sam's face. Long shudders ran through him.

A Hellhound drew close. As tall as Sam, its muzzle pressed against Sam's cheek. The nostrils flared and a cloudy puff of steam washed over him. Sam shook so bad he thought his legs would give out. He clenched his fists, waiting for the first claw to split through him, for several teeth to bear down and tear him apart between them.

The others moved closer, standing inches away, hemming him in within a tight circle. Shaking, Sam held his breath.

And nothing happened.

Unnerved, Sam looked from muzzle to muzzle. Glittering eyes bored into him. Their breathing was a loud raspy symphony.

"Just do it already!" he screamed, knowing Lucifer watched. The hounds flinched back. Sam's heart hammered like it was going to skid out between his ribcage. His inhalations were so shallow he thought he wouldn't have the strength to pull in the next breath. Unconsciously he took a step back . . .

. . . and felt a wet muzzle push against his back, forcing him a step forward. Then another step. After three steps, the Hellhounds in front of him shifted out of his way. Sam took a step to the side and they all stopped, growls resonating low in their massive chests.

Sam sidestepped back and they quieted. He took a hesitant step forward and they moved with him. A few of them turned to walk forward, flanking him, stopping to look back when he didn't move. Sam swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. The Hellhounds were herding him.

But to where?

Satan had concocted an entirely new game to put him through and Sam didn't understand the rules.

He felt a wet nudge on his back again. Tears drifted off his chin, splashing round drops of moisture that soaked into his shirt. Resolved, giving Lucifer the finger with every cell of his body, Sam straightened and walked forward.

They crossed the meadow, a lone man surrounded by giant muscle-wreathed dogs until Sam plowed into a wall, a barrier he could not see, the boundary of the Cage. Sam had run into it before. Tingles radiated across him, filling every pore. The Hellhound behind him crowded against his back, pushing him forward. Sam's face and chest squashed against the barrier, tingling uncomfortably.

Growling, several of the hounds moved forward and where they entered, the wall around them shifted, melted away. Tightly beyond the outlines of their angular bodies, Sam could see glimpses of dark sharp-hewn rock. "_Oh my God_," Sam gasped as the Hellhound behind grew impatient and propelled Sam up against the back of the hound just passing through the wall. Sandwiched between them, Sam fell through. A rush of prickles streamed around him, raising goose-flesh across his arms. His hair lifted as though caught in an electrical charge.

And then he was through, sitting on his butt within a dark glowing cavern, staring back at a shimmering luminous square no bigger than most of the hotel rooms he and Dean used to stay in. _That_ was the Cage? He could see right through it, saw Michael pacing while Lucifer and Adam sat in the air, the air they felt as gold wingback chairs, while they played a game of chess on a chessboard that Sam couldn't see.

Sam scrambled to his feet, moving around the Hellhounds, and pressed against the wall, trying to get back in. "Adam! Adam!" His fingers clawed into the vaporous iridescence, trailing wisps of light.

Lucifer spun, dark cloaks swirling. Head thrown forward he strode to the wall like a charging bull. Michael's head snapped up at the sudden move of his brother, his gaze roaming to Sam. Both archangels came to the wall, staring at Sam, while Adam continued to play chess, oblivious to what transpired around him.

On opposite sides of the glowing barrier, Sam screamed for Lucifer. "Let me back in!" Adam was still in there. "Let me back in!"

The devil snarled, mouth moving in fury, in hatred, while Michael watched calmly, his hands folded neatly together. A soft smile tugged perfect lips upward.

The Hellhounds snarled, low and menacingly. Sam wrenched his gaze away from the angels to see what was happening now. Demons. Some in human form, black eyes glittering in the hell-light. Others in roiling coalescing smoke. While others still, wore forms of monsters, barely human, half-eaten flesh and oozing pustules. They walked toward Sam with varying degrees of surprise and menace from where they'd been watching what happened inside the Cage like it was Super Bowl weekend_. God,_ the demons could see everything inside there, had watched Sam and Adam being tortured like it was an all-day matinee.

But Sam wasn't inside the Cage anymore. He was in the vastness of Hell now, exposed and vulnerable to any of these demons. He honestly didn't know which was worse. There were so many of them and Satan's tortures had at least become somewhat predicable.

"Little Sammy Winchester." A petite woman started forward. "In the flesh." She smiled prettily, her onyx eyes roaming over him.

Immediately the Hellhounds spun toward the encroaching demons, menacing growls resounding along the cavern walls. They moved forward, huge bodies bumping past Sam. The demons edged back, wary. While the hounds walked toward the demons, Sam eased back, out of their circle. He glanced at the Cage, at Adam, unaware that Sam was no longer inside with him anymore. Lucifer's dark eyes followed his movement.

"Let me back in," Sam pled.

As one, the Hellhounds' heads swiveled around to look at him. Lips pulled back in angry snarls. Sam froze. This was it. They were finally turning on him now and without Lucifer or Michael out of the Cage to heal him, what would happen to him? Would the demons restore him to just start over on him? He retained his body, so could he even die here? And then what?

He edged back against the tingly barrier and the hounds howled. Sam's brows squished together. It was the Cage? The Hellhounds didn't want him anywhere near the Cage? Testing the theory, Sam took a step forward. The pack quieted. Sam swallowed past the dryness in his mouth. He didn't know what to do.

"Come here, Sam," the woman called over the hounds. "We'll take care of you." Several of the demons grinned at that. "Don't worry. If you come on your own, the Hellhounds won't stop you."

What the hell did she mean by that?

The woman rolled her eyes. "Quit pansying around. He's ours now." She cocked her gaze back toward the demons in smoke form. "Just go get him."

With that the black smoke surged upward, spiraling over the dogs toward Sam. Sam flung his arm up in a lame attempt to protect himself, but the Hellhounds were already next to him. Canine teeth clamped upon his shoulder, spinning him, while another mouth curled over his other arm.

Sam screamed, more from the shock of it than actual pain. Then screamed again as he was dragged backwards off his feet and was flying through the cavern tight between two Hellhounds, paws pounding across the ground.

They fled through Hell, Sam carried along with the pack of speeding, coiling muscle. After the first shock, Sam realized the teeth hadn't broken through skin, were only holding him securely. They clamored past gutted rock and pools of steaming fire, around ropes and chains and hooks embedded in people's limbs and torsos, faster and faster, gaining speed until it all became a dizzying blur. Instead of the tormenting scenery rushing by, Sam stared at the Hellhounds, huge fleshy shoulders moving up and down, bouncing as they ran until in a burst of renewed speed, their hind quarters shimmered, curling into sparkling smoke that trailed behind them in ribbons. Heavy exhalations grated loud around Sam. Air rushed against his back. His body wasn't made for such speed. His head fell forward, his legs swayed behind the beasts. His stomach roiled, the contents ready to erupt.

Then all at once they slammed into something solid, yet continued on through it. Sam screamed against the onslaught. Everything went dark. It felt as though they were passing through rock, crushing in on them. His hands curled into glossy muscle, scrabbling for a hold against the punishing stone. He tried to wrench his arms free, escape, get out of the rock pooling around him, but the pack plowed through, dragging him with them until suddenly they were through. Sam didn't know how he knew, just that the pressure was gone. Everything was gone.

His arms were free. Water poured over him. On his knees, he curled over himself, the top of his head pressed into mud, the scent of wet grass strong in his nostrils. Everything hurt. Breathing rapidly, Sam blinked open his eyes, found wet muddy ground beneath him, small puddles churned by plops of falling rain. Cautiously Sam looked to the side, searching for the Hellhounds, but they were nowhere in sight.

There wasn't much in sight. Just the back of a brick building, rain-glistened garbage cans. He was in a field behind some kind of barred up business, completely alone.

Another illusion? Yet it didn't feel like an illusion. Sam started shaking, afraid to believe, afraid to even imagine what the Hellhounds could have done, yet the barrier of the Cage and then passing through rock . . . _Itcouldn'tbecouldn'tbecouldn'tbe._ Keeling forward into the mud, Sam wept.

**TBC **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Bobby Singer dropped the huge tome he'd been scouring back on his desk. Book weighed a ton. "So, according to this, the only one Hellhounds owe loyalty to is the King of Hell, and he's stuck in the Cage."

"That's not true," Dean said. "Crowley had his own Hellhound."

Frowning, Bobby scratched under his trucker's hat. "Crowley is a crossroads demon."

"And Hellhounds are closely related to crossroad deals. They're what come for you at the end of the deal." Dean eased out a breath, mentally tamping down the sensation of incisors ripping into him.

If Bobby noticed, he didn't say anything. "So while the devil holds all the guard dogs of Hell's leashes, crossroad demons, to a lesser extent, have the power to sic 'em on any poor sod who dealed with them. Son, I don't see how this helps us. You've already tried, we've both tried, and no crossroads show host will deal."

"To get Sam out!" Dean leaned over the desk, pressing down on his knuckles. "They won't deal to get Sam out. But if we deal for a Hellhound, we don't tell them what it's for . . ."

"And then what?" Bobby came around the desk, spun Dean to face him. "You're gonna send one of those beasts after your brother? Kid, you know the way they drag things, with teeth and claws. Say you could get one of the bitches to go in and get Sam, what shape will he be in when he gets out? I'll tell you. He'll be torn to shreds!" Bobby's face was red, his chest was pulling in giant heaves. They stared at each other for a tense moment until Bobby visibly got himself together. "Dean, when those hounds dragged you to Hell, you didn't see what was left behind. But I did."

"Bobby . . ." Dean's voice cracked. A too familiar sorrow wormed around inside his chest.

"No, Son." Bobby's palm curled over Dean's shoulder. "I can't . . . I can't take seeing another one of my boys like that. I'm telling you, if you send a Hellhound after Sam, all you're gonna get back is your brother's mangled corpse."

"Just what do you think Sam looks like now! With Michael and Satan going at him!" Dean slammed his knuckles onto the desk, leaning onto them hard, breathing angrily. "I know it's not perfect, but if we train . . ."

"You're going to train a Hellhound? Is that even possible? And that's not even bringing up the little problem of what do you have to trade because so help me if you suggest you trade your own soul again, and this time for a Hellhound, I'm going to kick your ass so hard you're going to be shitting through your brains. Is that what you're thinking, boy? Trading your soul for a Hellhound?"

"Yes! Alright, yes!"

Bobby's fists latched into Dean's shirt. "Hell you are! You're not too big for me to shove in the panic room and throw away the key!"

Dean swallowed, his features lifting in surrender. "Panic room doesn't have a key."

"Then I'll bloody well make one!"

Dean felt a tear slip onto his cheek. Everything he'd attempted came to a dead end, but this was the first thing he believed had a chance of working. He couldn't just give up. He couldn't. "Bobby, you know I wouldn't do anything that would hurt Sammy worse." His mind conjured up an image of his brother beneath the damaging muzzle of a Hellhound. "But he's suffering now, every minute. I just can't—" His voice caught. He felt Bobby's warm calloused hand curl over his nape. "I just can't."

"I know." Bobby's anger was completely watered down to a low gruffness in his voice. "We won't stop. We'll keep looking. If there's a way to use these Hellhounds without harming Sam, we'll find it. Not giving up. Not ever. But we're gonna do it right."

#

Adam. Adam was still in the pit with Lucifer and Michael. Shaky, Sam clawed at the wet grass, flinging tuffs of sod away until he reached the soil underneath, and burrowed into the mud. Just a trick, another of Satan's games, had to be. The worse one yet, because the Hellhounds could not have brought him back while leaving Adam behind. That did not happen. He just had to dig—_digdigdig_—and the illusion would go away, the mud would give way and he'd drop back into the Cage where he could protect the boy. This wasn't real, wasn't real. He would never have left Adam. He'd never give up. _Digdigdig._

"Hey!" The door at the back of the brick building slammed open and Sam jolted, expecting Hellhounds or one of the freaky slapped-together creations of Lucy's hoard, but it was only a man, marching toward him in the rain. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

Sam scooted back on his butt, his jeans soaked through, his arms coated to his elbows with mud. He balanced, ready to kick out at the demon—had to be a demon—but the guy stopped when Sam flinched. His features softened from wary to concerned. "You okay?" The man lifted his palms up in a non-threatening manner. "One too many, huh pal? Hey, I'm, uh, just gonna call someone."

Sam's eyes widened. His heart felt like a slab of ice, freezing him from the inside out. Not a demon. The guy was definitely not a demon. After all this time, Sam could tell the difference without the eyes blackening out. There was no demonic aura around the man, which meant . . . Sam started shaking even harder, his splayed hands cold on the ground making ripples in the puddles of rainwater. _Oh my God._ This wasn't another illusion. This was real. He was out. The Hellhounds had really dragged him out of Hell. _No no no no_. "Adam!"

The man flinched back. Sam didn't blame him. Coming outside to find some crazy SOB digging through the mud in the rain would make anyone nervous. Wonder what he'd think if he knew the back of his place was a direct Hellhound route from Lucifer's prison? The man swung back another step, looked caught between wanting to help, but not wanting to be attacked by a crazy for his trouble. "Just take it easy. I'm gonna get you some help."

"Where?" Sam wailed, jolting again at the half-wild sound of his own voice."

"Um, ambulance, man. Just, just, stay put. They'll be able to get you to where you need to be, all right?"

Sam shook his head, felt water fling around him. "No. Where is here?" The rain sluiced his hair flat again. Clumped strands lay across one eye.

The man took a tentative step forward. "This is my place, my diner. Maybe . . ." He sighed, deciding perhaps Sam wasn't a threat. "Maybe we can get you inside while we wait for the am—"

"No. No." Sam pressed his knuckles to his head as though he could force the guy to understand him. "Where is here? The, the . . .city. Where am I?"

The diner owner's brows shot up and he pushed his rain-dripping hair across his own forehead. "You don't know where . . .?"

"Please . . ." Sam begged, his forehead scrunched tight.

"Missoula." He came over, crouched down, lifted his hand to take Sam's arm. "Let me . . ."

"No!" Sam scrabbled back, not wanting to be touched. He knew the guy wasn't a demon, but still, he couldn't help flinching away.

"Hey, I just want to—"

No! No one could help him. Once he got far enough away, Sam rolled to his feet and ran, feet splashing and sinking in the mud. No one could help him. No one. No one except Dean or Bobby. His foot came down hard in a puddle, tearing a sob from his throat. Except Bobby was dead. He'd—Lucifer—had killed him. Castiel too. And Dean . . . Sam swallowed hard. He'd stopped the devil from killing Dean, but his brother had already been so beaten, so bloody and broken . . .

Sam stopped running. He stood, shivering, in the middle of a dark street. He didn't know where to go. Didn't know how to find his older brother. Didn't know how to get back to his younger brother. Odds were if Dean had survived, had gone to Lisa's, he would have packed her and the kid up and gone to ground somewhere else.

_Okay, okay_. Sam slicked his rain-soaked hair off his face. He could do this. So he was a little Hell-shocked, he was still a Hunter. He could figure this out. He'd had more than enough practice in the Cage, figuring Satan's puzzles out. He could do this. Straightening, he knew exactly where to go. Even if Bobby was dead, his place still had the best resources. Sam glanced up and down the dark street. He needed some wheels.

#

Sam parked the _borrowed_ Mazda half a mile from the salvage yard. It was almost out of gas anyway. It was the third vehicle Sam had taken. Without any money or credit cards, and completely covered in dried mud and who knew what other leftover residue from Hell—the smell of sulfur hadn't washed away with the rain, maybe never would—hot wiring another car when one was nearly empty was easier than trying to come up with a way to buy gas.

From the radio he learned what day it was. Five months. He'd been in Hell only five months. It'd been a lifetime. Yet also felt like only weeks. Time in the Cage was too slippery to count, too fluid within Lucifer's illusions.

Moving away from the car, Sam wobbled a little. He'd driven through the night and into half of the day. He hadn't stopped to eat or sleep, take a piss or scrape the mud off himself. He'd probably dehydrated himself, but little things like taking care of bodily needs had become a moot point in the pit. He'd eat when the archangels thought about giving him something and slept in those scant moments he'd been left alone, usually after falling unconscious.

He moved sluggishly at the side of the road, cold with only a thin ruined T-shirt in the chilly November South Dakota wind. Maybe he should have parked closer, but he knew better than to just drive into Bobby's gates. He had to scope out the place, see if it had been sold or knowing the resource Bobby was to the hunting community, it wasn't improbable that the salvage yard had been taken over by other hunters after his death. Sam's throat tightened, remembering the tiny snick of sound as Bobby's neck twisted and snapped. He paused at the corner of the tall fence at the edge of the property, putting a hand out to the wood to steady himself while he bent over, nauseous. _" Bobby."_

He took a moment to gather himself. This was all wrong. Bobby was dead. Castiel was dead. Dean—he choked back the bloody pulpy image and swallowed. Sam should be in Hell where at least he could do something to shield Adam, not here alive when all his friends were . . . when Dean was . . . He shook the despair off. _Suck it up, man. You're here to find out what happened to Dean and then find a way to get back to Adam. So suck it up and walk. _

Pushing off the fence, Sam followed it along to the back of the property, found the loose slat that was easily removed, the ground still heavily rock salted beneath —what didn't Sam know about this place—and slipped inside the yard. His breath caught in his chest. It was still the same. Old junkers, cranes for stacking, hard-packed ground and twiggy weeds growing among the settled cars.

Nearly overcome that nothing had changed, Sam weaved in and out between the scrap heaps, moving cautiously, alert. Making it to the back of the house, Sam stopped to peer in the windows, seeing no one within, as he made his way around to the side.

And stopped like he'd slammed into a brick wall. Because right there near the steps of Bobby's front porch—_Right there_—glinting black and glossy and fierce in the ripe daylight was the Impala.

Sam stared. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. A rough tingling erupted beneath his scalp, bringing a loud roaring pressure against his skull. The car, the yard, everything started swaying in front of him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow. There was no moisture in his mouth, in his swelling throat. Another movement caught his eye.

As though it wasn't him doing it, his head turned to the side, toward the large open work shed, toward . . . Dean. His throat tightened further, clamping off all oxygen as Dean swung away from the work table, eyes widening in surprise, Bobby lifting out of the old metal chair on the other side of the table . . and Sam still couldn't breathe . . . was this real? He couldn't breathe! Couldn't . . .

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Dean tossed his fake FBI identification card inside the cigar box-he hadn't used it for a while anyway—and shut the lid. Everything was ready to make the deal. All they needed was a crossroads.

"I still think it'd be better if I summoned the demon." Bobby splayed his palms flat on the old work table, nervous. "My yen for uncommon supernatural items is widely known. Demons won't bat an eye if I'm the one askin for a Hellhound."

Dean looked across the table at him. He knew Bobby was right, but he just couldn't shake the fact that Sam and Adam were his responsibility. He had to make the deal. Dean shook his head. "They're my brothers, Bobby. I got to see this one through."

"But don't you think—" Bobby's boots scuffed across the gravel of the work shed. "Look. I don't claim to know Adam, but he's your kin and that's good enough for me. Kid didn't deserve what he got anyways. And Sam . . . Dean, I love that boy like my own. Please let me do this. I stand a much better chance of getting a demon to deal and you know it. They'll be wise to you."

Dean pressed his lips hard together. This was too important, a last-ditch effort. _Dammit_. Without a word he opened the cigar box and took out his picture I.D. and lifted his gaze to give Bobby his best I-better-not-regret-this glare, but froze at the old guy's expression. Bobby stared goggle-eyed at a point past Dean's shoulder.

The tiny hairs across the nape of Dean's neck stood on end.

He turned, swiveling out of his chair and his heart stuttered to a complete stop.

_Sam_.

_Sam_?

Sam stood right there, across the yard, staring at the Impala like he'd never seen an automobile before. He was filthy and muddy and wearing the same clothes he'd had on when he jumped into the hole, except his jacket and striped shirt were gone—and who the shit cared about that? because Sam was standing there, right there, just standing there staring at the car and his head turned, their eyes met . . .

And Dean's heart roared back to life.

He couldn't move, pinned to the spot, staring back at Sam, unable to think, to make sense of what he was seeing, of how Sam could possibly be here in the salvage yard, until . . . Sam's knees buckled. He went down, pulling Dean out of his stupor. Dean lunged forward, only to be caught by Bobby's fist around his arm.

"No, Dean, stay back!"

"The hell!" Dean growled. Sam needed him. Sam sat on the ground with those questioning trusting eyes looking at him from behind a mud-coated face that was so purely Sam it hurt. "Let go!"

"Don't be stupid, son! That can't be him. No way in hell would the real Sam just waltz right in like that. We got to test him."

"Then test him, but hurry up, because whatever it is, it isn't able to breathe!" Dean shrugged out of Bobby's hold and closed the distance to his younger sibling. _God_, he wanted to just grab onto him and hold on, but held back, especially with how fast the kid's chest was moving in and out.

"Kay, easy, easy, slow down." Dean crouched down, palms out, still not touching even though it was killing him. "Nice slow breaths." He pulled his flask from jacket, held it out. "Nine parts whiskey, one part holy water. You know the drill. Just got to test you, Sammy."

The thing flinched at the use of the nickname even as the mud-caked lines at the corners of his eyes softened. "Yeah," he rasped, sounding so much like Sam that Dean wanted to weep.

Sam took the flask, warm fingers grazing Dean's and it took everything Dean had to not curl his own hand around the knobby wrist and pull the kid to him. He watched Sam's Adam's apple bob as he chugged down the entire contents of the flask like he hadn't had a drink in ages, which was a good enough test for Dean. _Screw it_. Bobby was taking too long.

Dean leaned forward and a fountain of rock salt flew over him and Sam.

He craned his face up, glaring. Bobby only shrugged. Sam blinked up at the mechanic and lifted his arm. Bobby didn't hesitate and slashed his silver blade across the forearm.

And waited.

"_Oh my God_." Bobby sank to his knees, his face lax with shock. "Kid." He dragged Sam into a huge embrace, squeezing the hard-earned air out of him.

Stunned, Dean watched Bobby doing what he ached to do. It was really Sam. It was really really Sam. A loud tight pressure started buzzing against the inside lining of his chest.

Sam pushed back, staring hard at Bobby, confusion pulling at his brows. "How . . .? I thought . . . I felt . . . how are you not . . .?

Bobby cupped the back of Sam's neck, his other hand still solidly around the kid's shoulder like he was afraid to let go. "Castiel took care of it."

Sam's brows seemed to press together even harder. "But he . . ."

"God brought him back. Cas brought me back."

"God?" Sam started blinking, fighting back tears yet to be spilled and Dean felt sick, knowing what his brother was thinking, that God would save Cas and Bobby, but leave him rotting in the Cage.

"Sam?"

Sam's head swiveled so fast he could have given himself whiplash. He stared at Dean as though just again realizing he was still there. His chest rose high and fell hard.

Dean could hardly speak, barely squeezed out a _c'mere _before Sam lunged into his arms. Throat closed off, Dean didn't say anything, just held on, tucked his chin over the top of Sam's head and breathed in the pungent mixture of mud, sweat and sulfur like it was the finest brandy and felt Sam's torso expand and fall with his erratic wet breathing. He didn't even care when he felt tears slide down his own face, didn't release Sam long enough to wipe them away, but pulled his arms around him tighter.

He could have stayed that way forever, the hell with the aches creeping into his back, just him and Sam and Bobby beside them. No one talking, no words big enough anyway because Sam was here, safe with him. His brother was here and nothing else mattered.

"Hey." Bobby's voice was as rough as tree bark. "Kid's been through hel—enough. Let's move this party indoors. Get him cleaned up."

Dean nodded, but didn't move, not ready to relinquish his hold. Sam lifted his head, looked at Dean, his expression full of wonder as though he still couldn't believe it. Welcome to the club. They practically pulled each other to their feet. Guess Sammy wasn't ready to lose physical contact with Dean either. Dean quickly looked Sam up and down, searching for injuries, noted the tears in the T-shirt, but no blood. Once he got him into the house, he'd do a more thorough inspection.

Following Bobby, they walked side by side, Dean's hand on Sam's elbow as if his sibling needed guidance, as if the kid hadn't gotten out of Hell and found his way to Bobby's on his own. Sam ran the tips of his fingers along the trunk of the Impala as they passed and something hard lodged in Dean's already tight throat.

They made it up the steps, onto the porch, through the door and into the study, heading toward the stairs when Sam suddenly stopped near the desk. Forehead furrowed, he picked up the sketch of the Hellhound, his gaze tracking across all the research scattered atop Bobby's desk.

"You did this?" Sam held the drawing out toward Dean. "You made the Hellhounds drag me out?"

Dean stilled. An icy chill swept down his spine. "No. But that was the plan. Sam? Did . . .?" He met Bobby's worried gaze.

Bobby swallowed. "Sam. Son, are you saying a Hellhound brought you out of the Cage?"

Sam slowly nodded. "Not one hound. An entire pack. How did you do it?" Sam took a step back, his features pinched and twisted, chest heaving. "Why didn't you get Adam out too?"

"Sam." Dean took a step forward, was relieved when Sam didn't move away. "I didn't do it, though I was working on it, and believe me, I was going to get Adam too." But if he could only get one of his brothers, it'd be Sam. "We were working on it. Tonight. We were going to summon a crossroads demon tonight, make a deal for a Hellhound."

"A deal?" Sam's face hardened. "Dean, you can't make any more deals."

"Wasn't gonna be for my soul."

Sam set the sketch down. "Okay. Okay." He rubbed his hand back through his dirty hair and suddenly smiled and both Dean and Bobby stared as though the sky just lit like the Fourth of July."So we know it works. Hellhounds can pass through all the gates of Hell. Whatever you were going to do for me, we can do for Adam."

Dean's heart melted to a globby mess that oozed down to the pit of his stomach. God, he loved this kid. Just back from the dead himself and thinking about Adam. "Yeah," Dean whispered.

"Just one problem." Bobby pressed his knuckles onto the desk. "We know we didn't send the Hellhounds after you, so just who—or what—did?"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Bobby's head snapped up the moment Dean came into the room. The old man already had two fingers of whiskey poured for him.

"He out?"

Dean tilted the glass back and forth, watching the amber liquid swirl. "Yeah. Took an hour in the shower to get all that crap off him. He was okay at first, but by the end he was shaking so bad I had to help and now he's pretty much down for the count."

Bobby's hands curled around his own glass, brows lowered. "He injured?"

Dean sat tiredly on the couch and snorted. "He came back from Hell."

Now Bobby did look at him.

Dean shook his head. "No. He's okay, just exhausted. Better than okay I guess. No injuries, not sporting any new scars." Dean huffed. "Old scars are gone, old breaks healed. That's how it works, Bobby. They break you and break you and put you all back together again nice and tidy." He'd been so focused on getting Sam back all these months, that now that Sam was out, the daunting realization of what his brother had endured stared him accusingly in the face. "He's going to need a new anti-possession tatt."

"That's gone?"

Dean shrugged. He still hadn't taken a drink.

Bobby leaned back in his chair. "Sigils on his ribs . . . they're probably wiped clean as well."

Dean frowned at the floor.

"That makes Sam pretty vulnerable to demons _and_ angels." Bobby tugged his hat down, a poker tell when the old hunter didn't favor the hand he'd been dealt. "Speaking of sigils, do you think our feathered friend had anything to do with getting our boy topside?"

Dean threw back the whiskey in one swallow before answering. "Been circling that thought and it just doesn't jive. Sam said Hellhounds dragged him out. Had to be a demon sent them. A pretty powerful one . . . and that—" He swallowed again, though the whiskey was long gone. That another demon had plucked Sam out of Hell to use his brother again for God knows what . . . scared the crap out of Dean.

"Yeah. I've been thinking the same thing." Bobby tapped the huge book he had open. "Tryin to figure out what kind of demon, beside the Devil, has the juice to command a pack of Hell mutts."

"And . . .?"

"And what? There just ain't that many things a Hellhound will obey. Nasty creatures. They're as likely to tear apart demons as they are anybody else. They're Hell's bitches. They patrol the firepit as tenaciously as a junkyard dog. If you aren't the junkyard owner or the junkyard owner doesn't call his dogs off . . ." Bobby shrugged.

"You're saying Satan's the only one who can control the mutts, besides the crossroad demons he gives authority to. Except Lucifer's in the Cage." Dean squinted his eyes. "A new player?"

Bobby poured himself another glass. "Hell's throne is vacant."

A weak headache was brewing behind Dean's eyes. "So a new up-and-comer devil pulled Sammy from Hell?" A muscle in his jaw twitched. "We need Cas."

Squeezing his eyes closed, Dean readied to call for the angel when a heavy thump crashed above them. Abandoning the prayer, Dean ran up the stairs, through the hallway, and flew into the room he'd left Sam in.

His brother was on the floor, wrestling with the blanket. "Get it off him! Get it off him! Please, Michael, do something! Adam! Adam!"

"Sammy." Dean rushed to Sam, sliding to his knees and tried to grab onto the young man's arms and got an elbow to his chin. "Sam, stop! Stop!" His brother was all flying arms and hands that were scrabbling to pull the blanket away as though it was made of poison. Maybe in Sam's mind it was.

"What's happening?" Bobby was there, reaching around Dean to help hold Sam from hurting himself in the tiny space between the bed, dresser and wall.

Sam screamed for Adam.

"Sammy, snap out of it!" Dean slammed Sam against the dresser, held him there. Sam kicked out, tangling the blanket further around his legs. "Stop, just stop! You're not there! Stop and look at me! Sammy!" Dean shoved him again. Sam's head rocked back against a drawer and snapped forward again. But his thrashing stopped.

"Sam, how long since you came back? Have you slept at all since you got out of Hell?"

Brows squishing together, Sam shook his head. "I came straight here."

"So this is the first time you've slept?" Dean's heart fell like a stone to his toes. "Shit. I didn't think. I'm sorry. No wonder you had a nightmare." He remembered his first dream after coming back. He thought it was real, that he was still there.

"Nightmare? I haven't had a nightmare that wasn't real—" Sam started, apparently realizing what he just said.

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist. "I know." He watched the way Sam's chin tightened. "You were screaming for Adam."

Sam's eyes were suddenly shiny with liquid. "Lucifer was burning Adam with lava. I couldn't get it off." Sam's gaze lowered to his open palms and Dean's stomach roiled, knowing how they must have boiled and burned as Sam tried to get it off Adam.

"Ah, kid," Bobby whispered behind Dean.

"Dean." Tears slid down Sam's cheeks, but instead of pushing them away, Sam grabbed onto Dean's arms with an uncommon fervency. "We have to get Adam out. We can't leave him down there. We have to get him."

Dean's fingers curled around Sam's elbows just as tightly. "We will, we will. Don't you worry, we will."

"You promise, you promise me. I can't leave him down there. I can't."

And that was the crux, wasn't it? Because as much as Dean wanted to help Adam, taking Sam anywhere near Hell again when he only had him back for just a few short hours scared the shit out of him. Especially with the chance of some badass demon gunnin for the kid. Risking Sam for Adam wasn't part of any equation Dean could wrap his head around.

"Dean, promise me."

But seeing Sammy this distraught when he was so Hell-shocked and fragile, Dean would give him anything. Anything at all.

"I promise, Sammy."

To which his younger sibling's features completely crumpled. Blinking back tears, Sam moved to get up.

"Whoa there, hotshot." Dean pulled Sam back down. "Not right now."

"But every second . . ."

"Will be expanded if we don't get this right. We have a game plan, Sam. We're sticking to it. Sam?"

Finally Sam nodded.

"Just like we were going to do for you. We have an appointment at the crossroads in a few hours."

"Kay." Again, Sam tried to get up.

"Part of the plan, Sam, is for you to sleep."

He felt Bobby's presence behind him shift away, heard his footsteps and the door closing as the hunter gave the brothers some privacy.

Sam looked away. "Dean. I don't think I can."

"You can. You know why?"

Sam's gaze slid back.

"Because I'm staying right here." Relinquishing his hold, Dean climbed onto the bed, sitting against the headboard with his legs stretched out.

Frowning, Sam pulled himself up. "I'm not five."

"Indulge me."

"This is stupid." But Sam lay down beside him, and turned on his side, facing away.

"I know. Whole thing's a big bad slurpy ball of stupid."

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"I missed you."

#

A tiny crescent moon floated within the shiny puddle near Sam's knee, a wavering reflection of the night sky.

"She's here." Dean lifted his chin toward the dark crosswords where a woman in a dark nightie materialized out of the shimmering air behind Bobby. The old hunter spun to face her.

From where he and Dean crouched behind a low fence, Sam leaned forward to better hear. This had to work. The thought of Adam enduring the Cage without him wedged like a knife in his side. Even though Michael promised to protect the kid from Lucifer, the Archangel had left him vulnerable before.

"A Hellhound, really? And why does a tired old hunter have need of a Hellhound?" The demon circled around Bobby.

"That'd be my own business. You got one or not?"

"Oh, I got one sugar, but they don't come cheap."

Bobby flipped out Ruby's knife.

The demon flinched back until the old hunter turned it handle out toward her.

A delicate eyebrow rose. "A demon-killing blade in exchange for one of the mutts? I don't think so."

"Oh, I'd say it's a fair trade." Bobby flipped the blade around a few times. "The value ain't so much in the possession of it, but that you'd know I and the Winchesters don't have it."

The demon's head tilted, spilling dark hair over one shoulder. "Tempting. Throw in the Colt."

"The Colt?"

"You do have it?"

"Fine."

The demon smiled. "You really must want that Hellhound bad." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Rule of supply and demand, pumpkin. Price just went up."

To his credit, Bobby didn't bat an eye. "I came to deal." He pulled one of the smooth pointed blades they'd collected from his jacket.

"An angel killing blade?" The demon stepped forward. "Well, well, well, look at you. You'd really give this to me, knowing I might use it on your haloed pals?"

Bobby snorted. "There's only one angel I give even half a rat's balls about and that's only on Tuesdays. The rest are dicks in Armani, so have at 'em."

The demon ran the pads of her fingers along the flat of the smooth blade. "Won't I be the envy of all the other little demons with this. I must say, you really know what to offer a girl."

The tiny hairs at the back of Sam's neck stood on end, like a soft electrical current buzzing through him. He glanced behind them, senses on edge.

"We gonna deal or what?" Bobby said gruffly, going for an indifferent posture.

The demon grinned, her pert little nose wrinkling. "No deal." She turned to walk away from Bobby, and faced the fence the Winchesters crouched behind. "Sorry, but the boss only wants one thing."

"She's not going for it," Dean whispered.

"My soul, right?" Bobby turned the other way and started walking. "Well that's just too damn bad, because that's not on the table."

"We don't want your guttered soul," the demon threw over her shoulder.

Bobby stopped. Turned.

"There's only one thing we do want." The woman's eyes turned black. "And you brought it right to us."

"Oh, yeah?" Bobby scowled. "And what's that?"

The demon's lips curled up. "Samuel, honey. It's time for you to come home."

Sam felt Dean stiffen beside him.

The demon flung out her arm like a back-handed slap and Bobby flew back and smacked against his truck.

Dean's hand splayed over Sam's chest, pushing him back, the silent message clear. _Getting you out of here. _

But Sam was jerked away, yanked through the air so hard he broke through the rotting fence until he was pinned in the air, inches from the demon. The invisible force pushing against him made it hard to breathe.

"Oo, you are as cute as they say," the crossroads demon smiled. "Of course I never got a chance to look inside the cage and see for myself. Busy, busy, busy, life of a saleswoman."

The click of the Colt's hammer pulling back snapped both the demon's and Sam's attention to the side.

"So now you've seen him." Dean pointed the gun at the Brunette's temple. "Let him go."

"Dean!" Sam tried to warn him as five more demons materialized behind his brother. One grabbed Dean while another snatched the Colt away and the third man punched Dean in the stomach hard enough to double him over.

Sam winched, watching his brother struggle against their hold until the crossroads demon grabbed his chin, forcing Sam to look back at her. She leaned in close enough to kiss him. "Here's the thing, dreamboat. I'm what you'd call a loyalist. I like my job. Like the perks. So I'm not ready for a big change of management to come in and overhaul the company."

She held her hand out and the demon who had taken the Colt placed it in her waiting palm. "This thing kills anything, right?" She pointed it at Dean's chest.

Dean lunged for her, only to be held back by the other demons. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Just let him go."

Sam pushed against the bonds of air. "No, no. You make deals, right? Let Dean and Bobby go and whatever you want me to do, I'll do it."

"Sammy!" Dean growled.

The demon swiveled back to him. "I only want you to do one thing." She pushed the Colt's muzzle against Sam's forehead and shrugged. "Die."

She cocked back the hammer and Dean got a fist loose, swung out at one of the men, screaming for Sam.

And a bulk of heavy shadow and swirling smoke crashed into the woman, dragging her down as a shot banged out and Sam's head exploded in pain. Released, Sam fell to the ground in a heap and grabbed his head.

Snarls and shrieks and Dean shouting floated around him. Another gunshot rang out. Through a grinding haze of pain, Sam tried to make out what was going on. Hellhounds. He'd know their sound and scent and . . . just the way the air felt when they were around . . . anywhere. It was all a swirl of fur and smoky ribbons, but the hounds seemed to be attacking everyone but him.

"Dean! Bobby!" Sam tried to pull himself up, tried to pinpoint his brother, but there was too much movement, too much flying gore and blood and screams. Sam clutched at his head. "Dean! Don't hurt them!" Sam screamed at the hounds as though that would do any good. "Don't hurt them!" He lunged upward and a huge muscular side bumped him back to the ground.

He curled over, clutching his head, unable to do a damn thing to help his brother and surrogate father. Had the demon shot him? He didn't think so, but his head was a seething swell of torment. Focused all on one side, bullet must have grazed him. He took that all in within seconds while the roars and screamed settled around him.

"Sam," Dean called out.

Sam flinched, crying out on a moan. Things were quieter and Dean was calling for him. His brother was okay. He had to be okay. Heavy exhalations sounded around him. Squinting his eyes open, Sam found himself pressed up tight within a circle of Hellhounds. Oh God, they were going to herd him again. Except they weren't moving, just laying around him, breathing heavily after their battle.

"Sam!" Dean called out again, more forcefully.

"Dean." Sam hated how weak his voice came out, but his head was throbbing so hard a dark fog was snaking into the edges of his sight. "I'm right here."

"I can't get to you, Sam. Can you come to me?"

"I . . ." Sam pushed up on his palms and the ground heaved up and down beneath him. "I need your help," he admitted.

One of the hounds got up.

"Whoa, whoa."

Sam peeked up and immediately scrunched his forehead at the sight of the Hellhound nosing his brother into their circle.

"Hey." Eyes tracking around uneasily, Dean lowered next to Sam. "You okay?"

Warm palms immediately slipped onto Sam's face, pulling his head up so Dean could see. "Head hurts."

"I imagine."

Sam hissed as fingers felt along the side of his head.

Dean's fingers pulled back bloody. "She barely grazed you. I thought she . . ." Dean shook his head wearily.

Sam slid his hand onto Dean's wrist and squeezed. "Bobby?"

"Right here, boy," the older hunter's voice called out. "Your mutts won't let me near you."

_His mutts?_

"Sam." Dean pulled Sam up higher and let him rest his injured head against his thigh. "Can you see the Hellhounds?"

Sam cringed back. "Yes." His mind suddenly grasped on to what that meant. Dean could see the Hellhounds only when his deal was almost up. "Does that mean, that I'm still, that Hell's gonna drag me back . . ." His chest was raising and falling hard. He couldn't help it. His head felt like it was being ground against a whetstone.

"Shhhh, shhhh, no. Calm down. No. I don't think that's what this is."

"Then what?" Wanting to put all his trust in Dean, Sam tamped down on the encroaching fear, but his head felt like it was about to explode and he and his brother were sitting in the middle of a pack of Hellhounds who didn't seem inclined to let them just walk away.

"That bitch was going to shoot you, Sammy. In the head." He felt Dean take a steadying breath."But a Hellhound saved you. And then the entire pack started tearing into all the demons." Dean's gaze crossed over the Hellhounds and Sam wondered at the carnage scattered across the ground that he couldn't see past the wall of mutts. He felt their large sides move in and out against him as they breathed. "Bobby and I tried to get to you, but the hounds wouldn't let us."

Alarm bells sounded off in Sam's ears. "Did they hurt you?"

"They left us alone until we got close to you, then they came at us—Sammy, the pack only went after anything they thought was a threat to you."

"Did they hurt you?" Sam ground out, lifting his head even though tiny sparks ricocheted across his vision.

"Got close, but then you screamed for them not to hurt us and they just stopped."

That didn't make any sense.

"Sam," Bobby said from the other side of the pack. "I want to try something. Tell the mutts to let us see them."

This was stupid. "I want Dean and Bobby to see you," he slurred, simply to prove that what Bobby was getting at was wrong.

"Sheesh!" Bobby barked out, startled.

"Ugly, ain't they?"

Sam blinked up at his brother. "You can see them?"

Dean nodded.

A slow panic started building inside Sam's chest. "What does that mean?"

"From what we know," Bobby muttered. "My guess is that you're the new King of Hell."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven **

"Gonna get you on your feet." Dean's heart was running a full-out marathon. Last time he'd been this close to a hound of Hell, their teeth were ripping through his chest cavity. Having their snouts this close to Sam, hot breath puffing across the kid's face, noses nudging at his side, had a cold sweat breaking out across the back of Dean's neck.

Dean pulled Sam to his feet and the dogs growled low in their throats, red eyes flashing. Both brothers froze.

"They're gonna let us through, right?"

Sam's eyes widened. "You think I know?"

Dean felt his sibling's heart pounding where his hand was fisted in the kid's shirt to help steady him. "Well, they're kind of acting on your orders."

Sam stiffened. His answer was quiet. "I didn't order them to pull me out of the Cage."

Dean wet his lips, having no answer for that. He hated knowing that if Sam had the choice he would have remained in the Cage to protect Adam. He got that. Got that Sam being Sam wouldn't have left the kid for anything, but it still made Dean sick to his stomach thinking about Sam sacrificing himself like that.

Together, they took a small step forward and the hounds shifted to let them through. So far so good.

"Kay, they're moving," Bobby said from the other side of the phalanx of shoulder-high dogs. "Just take it slow."

They made it to Bobby and began inching their way towards the truck. The mutts moved with them like guards on duty. The closest one stopped just before Sam swayed and would have gone down if Dean didn't have a hold on him. "Sam?" he asked, staring into the glowing eyes of the hound, noting the puckered skin of an old scar across the nose. He had the uncanny feeling that the mutt sensed Sam was about to take a tumble before it happened.

Dean tore his gaze away to assess Sam. Kid's jaw was clenched, eyes tightened to slits, face pale. Head must be throbbing. "You with me?"

Despite the pain lines etched into his features, Sam grinned. "I am."

"Am what?"

"With you." He nodded. "I'm with you."

The significance of those words reached Dean, spreading warmth through his chest. He swallowed. "Good. Let's keep it that way." _Hell's not going to get you again_.

Bobby yanked the truck door open and the hounds recoiled at the grinding squeak. The scarred mutt pushed itself between the brothers and the truck.

"This could be a problem." Bobby climbed inside and scooted across the bench seat to the driver's side.

Dean nudged his brother. "Tell them you need to get in the truck."

Sam lifted his head, his eyes barely focusing, yet he found the scarred dog's gaze. "Do whatever my brother says," Sam slurred and Dean felt him lean closer into him, his strength depleted.

Dean stared the dog down, which was no easy task with the hound being nearly at eye level and a couple hundred pounds larger than him. "You heard him, move out of the way."

The Hellhound stared back before he gave a short bark and shifted away, allowing Dean and Sam room to get into the truck. Oh yeah, scarface was definitely the leader.

Not wasting time, Dean pushed Sam into the truck, and climbed in beside him. He felt a lot more comfortable with Sam wedged in between Bobby and himself as though their flesh and bones made any kind of barrier if the dogs wanted to get at his brother.

Bobby's hand hovered over the horn as though a short blast would get the hounds to move like a herd of cattle. Rethinking, the old hunter dropped his hand to the ignition. "Hospital?" He eased the truck forward. The hounds moved out of the way, only to lope by the sides as the vehicle picked up speed.

"Your place."

"You sure? Kid took a bullet to the . . ." Bobby's hands tightened on the wheel, obviously as unsettled by the close call as Dean was.

"Not even bleeding," Sam piped in. He was slouched in the seat, long legs taking up all the room in Dean's side of the footwell, eyes closed and head resting against the seat.

Bobby glanced at Dean for confirmation.

"We were lucky." _Damn lucky_. Dean squeezed his hands into fists to stop the shaking. "Bullet barely grazed him. Looks more like road rash. Might need to shave off his hair just to make sure."

Sam phiffed out a breath and Dean smiled.

Bobby pulled the truck onto the main road that would take them to the turn-off and the little country road that led to the salvage yard. This late there were only a few other cars sharing the roadway and Bobby pressed on the gas pedal, doing as least seventy with the hounds of Hell easily keeping pace.

"That demon wanted me dead." Sam still hadn't opened his eyes. "She talked about a change in management. And then the Hellhounds . . ."

"They saved you, Sammy."

"But why . . .?"

Dean and Bobby looked across the boy to each other.

"Am I . . .?" Sam pressed a hand over the wound on his head.

Dean looked past Bobby out the window at the bunching muscles of the running pack. He'd seen a lot of things in his lifetime, yet it still unnerved him to witness Hellhounds flow straight into and out the other side of oncoming vehicles.

"They pulled you out of Hell, boy." Bobby tugged the rim of his old cap. "They're following your orders."

Worse and worse. Dean wanted to cover his ears and shout _la-la-la I can't hear you._ "You're saying that the Hellhounds dragged Sam out of the Cage because they recognize him as the King of Hell. So why didn't they just drag Satan out?"

"I don't know. Guess they like Sam better. Or maybe because Sam bested Lucifer when he took control and jumped into the pit. Dogs don't tend to get all messed up into political issues. They simply look to the Alpha, the strongest. It's instinctual.

"Or it's possible that since the Cage was built especially to hold in a fallen Archangel, they couldn't free Lucifer, so went with the next best thing. Haven't exactly run across a situation like this before."

Sam's eyelids slid open. "If this is true, if I'm the big Kahuna of—"

"You're not." Dean didn't want him to be, didn't like the ramifications.

"If I am," Sam continued. "Then I can go back and order the demons to let Adam out."

"That's a big if, Sam," Dean growled.

"Notwithstanding . . ." Bobby pulled onto the country road. "If that crossroads demon aiming the colt at your head is anything to go by, you don't exactly have the winning vote downstairs. Just because a pack of Hellhounds recognize you as Alpha dog, doesn't mean the entire population of demons are gonna let bygones be bygones. With Lucy locked up tight and you suddenly out, the top frontrunners for the position of Hell's ruler are going to be gunnin for you and I wager their smear campaigns will be more about _smearing_ you all over the pavement."

The muscles of Dean's throat tightened. Sam went quiet.

Bobby stared out the windshield. "Son, I hate to be the one saying this, but you can't go anywhere near the Cage."

"Stop the car!" Sam jerked up. "Bobby, just pull over." Sam reached across Dean, grabbing for the door handle. Dean shoved his arms away.

"All right. Hold on." Bobby pulled the truck over and Sam shot out the door, nearly dragging Dean with him as he climbed over him.

The hounds immediately circled Sam, pressing in close and casting wary glances out toward the darkness. Sam ran his hands back through his hair, palms squeezing his temples. "None of that matters, me being King or not."

Dean edged closer, not wanting to spook the dogs—or Sam. "Of course it matters."

"No." Sam's forehead was lined in concentration. "That's not the point. Whether I am, whether I'm not, the Hellhounds—at least this pack—are doing what I ask them to do."

"Yeah." Dean stepped closer. He didn't know what Sam was getting at, but no way was he going to let Sam figure out how to get back into the Cage.

Sam's eyes lit up. "It's so simple." He searched the hounds until he found the scarred one and looked him straight in the eye. "Free my brother Adam from the Cage. Gently."

As though he understood completely, the Hellhound turned, muscles bunching.

"Wait," Sam called and the hounds all looked toward him. "Bring him here. Right here." It was apparent that Sam didn't want Adam to come out somewhere alone and confused like he had.

Scar nose barked and as one the hounds took off, running full out until they flashed into fiery streamers that zipped away into the curve of the nearest hill.

Dean stared after them, hope tangling with the ever-present worry residing within his chest. Could it be that easy?

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Sorry, sorry. I know long time no update, but the muse on this took off on a tequila bender or something. She's back, a little worse for wear and gave me the entire layout for how the rest of this thing goes so it should go pretty fast from here on out. **

**Chapter Eight **

"How long is this going to take?" Dean growled.

"For a pack of Hell mutts to drag your half-brother from the pit?" Bobby scratched his head. "By my calculations should be a few more friggin _I don't know_ minutes."

Shaking his head, Dean glared at the dark treeline in the distance. "Sam couldn't have waited to send the pack after Adam til we got to your place?"

Bobby's lips curled. "Would've been more convenient." The old mechanic glanced back at Sam, sitting sideways in the truck cab, his long legs dangling outside the open door. "We're like sitting ducks out here in the open."

"Yeah, well. Done is done and we're not moving til the hounds get back." Dean shoved his hands in his pocket, glancing at his brother. Sam's cheek pressed against the back window. It was hard to tell if the kid had fallen asleep or just had his eyes closed. They'd insisted he wait in the truck after Bobby pulled it into the field and then he and Dean grabbed spray paint from the back and painted several devil's traps in the grass around the truck. It wasn't perfect, but any demon that tried to get close to Sam would find himself bottled up before he could get near him.

Impatient, bored and worried, Dean wished for the hundredth time Bobby kept a cooler with his truck's arsenal. Instead, he strolled over to the side of the vehicle and leaned his back against it near the open door.

"Hey," Sam croaked, his voice as wasted as an eight-pack-a-day smoker's. "How long?"

"Only a few hours. How's the head?"

"Good," Sam said a little too fast. "Well, considering."

Considering he'd come out with only a graze path in the side of his head when the crossroads demon had the Colt's muzzle pressed at Sam's forehead. Dean's stomach heaved. Okay, forget the beer. He would have just upchucked that anyway.

"Dean." Sam slid across the seat to get out. "They're coming."

Dean snapped his gaze toward the dark field, not seeing anything. "You sure?"

"Yeah. There's a rumble to the air."

Dean went very still, listening. "Okaaaay." Bobby sidled next to him, rifle in hand, gaze shifting across the area. Headlights drifted over them as a car passed on the roadway behind them.

Standing, Sam gripped the door as though he needed it to steady himself. For only a moment, then he pushed off and started walking.

"Sam?" Dean followed after him, Bobby close on their heels and _BLAM_ . . . the Hellhounds materialized around them, hind quarters swirling like bright smoke until they solidified into legs and tails, flanks heaving and glistening with sweat. The brothers shared a worried look before spinning in opposite directions to search among the pack. "Adam!"

Dean pushed through the large dogs, bent to look beneath them, seeing nothing but sleek hound legs and grass. "Adam!" he called out, hearing Bobby and Sam calling the same. Craning his neck, Dean looked across the backs of the hounds in a wide circuit until he found Sam. The largest hound, the leader with the scar across its nose, crouched at Sam's feet, front legs and muzzle low to the ground in a gesture of submission. Failure. Dean's hopes plummeted to the ground along with the beast, knowing Adam wasn't there.

He made his way through the pack to Sam.

Sam looked up at his approach, pleading eyes shining like liquid in the moonlight. Lips stretched thin, he gave a quick shake of his head.

Dean cupped Sam's elbow, ready to do more at the slightest indication that Sam's strength might give out, but so far he was holding his own. "Hey, that doesn't mean it won't work or that we're not going to try again. For all we know, they missed the designated visiting hours."

Sam's eyes widened, staring hard at his brother, his brows bunching.

"All I'm saying is that we don't know why this didn't work. Could be a number of things. But we're going to figure it out and we're going to get Adam. I promised you, right?"

"Yeah." Sam's head started bobbing. "Yeah, you did."

"Okay then."

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine **

Sam threw himself into research, scouring every resource Bobby had that even remotely touched on Hell. There had to be something in some text that would give them a clue on how to retrieve Adam from the pit.

He'd sent the Hellhounds after the kid two more times, hoping the first failure was just a fluke, but each time the pack returned without Adam and seeming utterly dejected at the failure to their master.

So much so that Sam had taken to reading a lot of the books and printouts outside where the hounds seemed less uneasy with having him within their sight.

"Time for a break, Sammy. You're pushing yourself too hard." Dean pushed a sandwich in his face and sat down beside him on the porch steps.

"Every minute it takes us to figure out is days Adam's stuck in there."

A firm hand curled over his shoulder. "I know. Believe me I get that."

Sam stared at the scarred Hellhound lounging at his feet on a lower step.

"Look, we're not going to stop until we get him back. I promised you, Sam."

Bolstered by his brother's determination, Sam smiled. "Yeah, okay. Yeah. Did you find anything useful in the _Graduations to Temptation_ index?"

Dean grabbed the chewed-up tennis ball on the porch and tossed it into the yard. The Hellhound shot off in a puff of smoke. "No, it reads like an instruction guide for newbie cross-road demons. I'm not even sure the author wasn't a demon."

The Hellhound reappeared and dropped the slippery ball at Dean's feet. "Good boy, good doggie." He rubbed the large glossy head affectionately behind the ears.

Sam's brows rose. "You taught him how to fetch?"

Dean shrugged. "He's a quick learner. Aren't you, Alfred? There's a good dog."

"You named him?"

"Couldn't just call him 'it'. It's undignified."

"Naming him after Batman's butler isn't?"

"He likes to fetch. Like a butler. What?"

Sam kept his features neutral, but warmth spread inside his chest. God, he'd missed his brother.

He picked at his sandwich, feigning complete seriousness. "Okay then, but just so you know, since the Hellhounds think I'm their master, that makes me Batman. You're Robin."

"What? No." Dean's eyes widened comically. "It doesn't mean that at all. I'm the one who taught him how to fetch."

Dean slid the large book Sam had opened on his lap out from under the sandwich plate. "No more studying until you eat." His voiced lowered to a gravelly rasp. " And I am the Batman." He closed the large book. "Wish the hounds could just go off and fetch all the answers we need."

Everything inside of Sam went very still. "Dean." That was it. He shoved the full plate back at Dean and stood up, ran both hands back through his hair. "Dean, that's it."

He ran into the house, into Bobby's dining room slash office, his gaze roaming the piles and shelves, searching for—he didn't know exactly—something old.

Dean ran in after him, plate and book still in hand. "What? What is it? What'd you figure out?"

"You did." Sam pulled a fat tome from a pile stacked on a wobbly kitchen chair. "Look. For whatever reason the Hellhounds can't bring Adam out like they did me, but they might be able to fetch other things."

Dean shook his head, wearing a not-following-you expression.

Sam set the book down and grabbed another. "Knowledge, Dean. These books here . . . they were written by men, knowledgeable men, but they were still guessing at best. You want to know something about monsters, you go to the source."

"You've scoured the _Bible_, Sam. The _Quran_ and _Apocrypha _and who knows what else and came up with a truckload of squat."

"Heaven's books, Dean—also written by man."

Dean shrugged. "Supposedly prophets. Like Chuck."

"Fine, but that's still Heaven's books."

Sam saw the moment it clicked in Dean's head. His brother's eyes glinted with that little spark of pride reserved only for him. He wondered if Dean even knew he did that. "You think there's books in Hell, written by demons for demons."

Sam cocked his head. "Or written by fallen angels. Hell's Angels. Even Crowley said that he's bound by certain rules. "

"Okay. So what are we looking for?"

"Something old—on parchment maybe, that might have a similar scent or texture to a book down under."

Dean stretched up to one of the higher shelves. "Like this?"

Sam looked over his shoulder, his mouth curling down in an unconscious shrug at the scroll wrapped around two sticks Dean held. "That might work."

They hurried outside where Alfred waited on the porch, always alert when Sam was out of sight. His body visibly relaxed. Sam took the hound's head between his palms, bending only slightly to get face-to-face with the gigantic canine. "Alfred, I don't know if you even understand what I'm telling you, but I need you to go into Hell and bring me back the oldest text you can find." He took the scroll from Dean and held it up to the hound.

Alfred leaned forward, large nostrils expanding. The scar across his nose bunched as the Hell-beast seemed to concentrate. With a loud _woof_, Alfred turned and dashed away in rapid streamers of smoke. The other hounds in the yard lifted their heads and trailed off after their leader, disappearing like speeding zeppelins.

Sam stood on the steps, staring at the empty salvage yard. The hounds' departure was a thing of beauty he'd never get tired of witnessing.

Dean's hand curled around his arm, tugging him back into the house. "Now will you eat?"

"Uh, sure." Why not? Sam turned his back on the yard until a low vibration skittered across the back of his neck. He swung back around.

The Hellhounds burst into view. Alfred had a very long, very old scroll between his wet teeth which he nudged into Sam's chest.

"That was," Dean said. "Astonishingly fast."

Sam took the scroll gingerly from between the Hellhound's teeth, his pulse banging inside his eardrums. Ever so gently he unrolled the top.

"Is it?" Dean leaned close.

Sam shook his head. "I can't read it."

Dean reached over. "That symbol is Enochian."

"Yeah, you're right, but it's a varied form. Wait." His throat was closing up. "Enoch was the great great, however many greats, grandson of Adam. They were contemporaries."

Dean pulled back to stare at Sam. "That many _greats_, how could they be contemporaries?"

"People lived long back then. Adam didn't die til he was like nine hundred years old."

"You're kidding me?"

"No. I'm not. Dean, I think this is written in the Adamic language. This has got to be the oldest document on the face of the planet."

"Well now it is. It's been in Hell all this time."

Sam glanced sideways at Dean before settling his gaze back onto the parchment. "If Enoch knew Adam, then Enochian would be closely related to Adamic. I think I can figure this out."

"That's great, Sam, and I'm going to do whatever I can to help just as soon as you eat that sandwich."

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten **

Dean stretched his back and attempted to roll the tension from his neck. They'd been at it for three days straight. Sam and Bobby had worked out a kind of cipher between Adamic and Enochian (which Sam had apparently become semi-fluent in during his stay with the winged Bobsey twins.) You can take a geek out of Kansas. . . .

Days ago, kid had broken out in a sweat, face lost all color and his hands started trembling, scaring the beejebas out of Dean. Turned out Sam had merely translated the title. What they had was the actual law book of Hell. All the rules and ordinances that governed the realm of darkness from what transgressions precisely justified eternal damnation to the limitations and power wielded by the official who sat on the throne.

Hell was full of laws and red tape.

"Must be why so many lawyers feel at home there," Dean had snarked and Sam rolled his eyes.

Most of the book was boring rhetoric, though pre-law Sammy was in his element, only frustrated that they couldn't translate fast enough or that what they had uncovered so far still didn't tell them anything about how to free their youngest brother from the pit.

They left huge chunks of symbols untouched once Sam determined by a few lines which passages would go on and on about crossroad deals or the loopholes within tempting mankind.

At the moment, Dean worked at the kitchen table with Bobby on a few photocopied segments Sam thought might have potential. He just happened to glance over at Sam who had a large portion of the scroll unrolled across Bobby's desk in the study. Sam's posture all of a sudden straightened. His fingers followed lines of text and then lifted to drop back down and follow alone the same lines again.

"Find something, Sam?"

Sam jolted nearly out of his seat. "Uh, yeah. No. Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

Bobby looked up.

Dean got up to go look over Sam's shoulder. It still all mostly looked like chicken scratch to him. What Sam could translate in minutes, took Dean a good half hour and Bobby wasn't much better.

"I, um . . ." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes squeezed tight. "I think I need a break. I'm seeing double."

"Yeah." Dean nodded, not buying it. Okay, the seeing double maybe. Sam had been at this non-stop, barely eating or sleeping. Bobby threatened him with a loaded tranquilizer last night to finally get the kid to turn in. "Why don't you go get some rest?"

Nodding, Sam stood and shuffled toward the living room. Halfway, he turned back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Dean?"

Dean didn't like how Sam wouldn't look him in the eye. "Yeah?"

"Just, um . . ." Sam did meet his gaze then. "Just thanks, you know . . . for not giving up on me. And not giving up on Adam."

So that was it. Sam had reached the point of being overwhelmed and sought reassurance from big brother. Everything inside Dean softened. "You know how it goes. Us Winchesters are a stubborn lot."

Dimples came with that and Sam dipped his head. "Yeah. Thank God for that."

Dean laughed. "Get some rest. Bobby and I will keep working." He watched Sam head up the stairs, the slump to his shoulders concerning.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean spoke quietly and fingered the part of the scroll Sam had been working on. "What do you say we work on this section for a bit."

#

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, long fingers steepled together and stared despondently at the wrinkles puckering the worn rug on the hardwood.

He'd been desperate to find a way to get Adam out . . . now that he had—He pressed his hands over his face—he didn't know if he was strong enough to go through with it.

He sat there for hours, waiting for evening, until he heard movement downstairs, chairs scraping across the floor, and knew Dean and Bobby had gone into the kitchen to rustle up dinner. Silently, Sam padded down the stairs and eased into the study. Very carefully he rolled up the scroll, freezing when he heard the tiny snick of the gas stove and a pot sliding across the burner. He looked up to see Bobby at the stove, his back to him. He and Dean must be spent. They weren't even talking.

Backtracking, Sam slipped out the front door and down the steps, avoiding the places he knew creaked.

The hounds came immediately alert. He didn't have to call them, which made things much easier.

"Going somewhere?"

Dean walked around Alfred's hulking form and patted the Hellhound's side.

"I . . ."

"Save it. I know exactly what you were going to do. Bobby and I did a little translating of our own. A challenge, Sam. Really?"

Sam winced. "It's the only way. Once a challenge is made for the throne of Hell, it has to be met, unless forfeited."

"So what, you think you're gonna just waltz down there and extend a challenge to Lucifer and he'll be . . ." Dean lifted his palms upward. "Lucy will magically be released from the Cage to accept an alpha dog bitch match for the throne?"

Sam shifted from one foot to the other. He should've known Dean would sense something was off and figure everything out. "The law is explicit on that. It's the one unforeseen loophole that can open the Cage. Once open, I grab Adam and we hightail it out of there via the Hellhound Express."

"Except for one thing." Dean crossed the distance between them. "I'm not letting you do this."

"How you gonna stop me?" Sam's hands curled down by his sides.

A beat passed.

This wasn't the way he wanted to leave Dean. Sam exhaled, uncurled his fingers. "This is our best chance." He gave a half-laugh. "It's our only chance."

Dean's stance softened too. "It's too risky. It runs the potential of a million things going wrong. Even if we brought the Horsemen's rings, there's no way Satan's dumb enough to willingly jump in a second time for you to close the Cage, and I'll be damned before I let him take the wheel of your noggin again. Plus, a challenge to the devil? You may have to actually fight him—an Archangel. Sam, I can't—" Dean shook his head. His eyes glistened with moisture. "I can't lose you again. I can't."

Sam's chest hurt as though a bruise formed around it. "Dean, that's why I have to go. I can't leave Adam there. I promised him. And you promised me."

Dean rubbed a palm across his jaw, but Sam was determined to roll over any objections. "If it was me still down there, you'd go."

Dean went very still. Sam knew the moment he had him when his brother's eyes dipped and all the strained bravado left the rigid line of his shoulders.

"Please, Dean." Sam cringed at the desperation in his tone. He needed to do this, but he also needed Dean to support him in it.

"All right, Sammy," Dean said so quietly it felt like a caress on the chilly air.

Relief so powerful it almost dropped him to his knees, slammed into Sam. His throat clamped up so tight he couldn't speak, just stood there nodding, blinking back tears.

"I'll . . ." He swallowed past the closing muscles cinching his throat. "I'll bring him back." Sam turned.

"Oh. You're not going alone."

Fear stiffened Sam's spine. He was more than willing to risk himself over this, but not Dean. "No, Dean. There's no reason for you to—"

"There's every reason!" he practically growled. "Just like you won't leave Adam there," Dean threw Sam's own argument back to him. "I won't let you do this without me."

Sam's lips slipped open, stunned. Part of him was scared to death for Dean, knowing his sibling was beyond protective and would throw himself in front of either younger brother at the first indication of anything going south, yet another part of him was just so damn glad.

Sam stretched out his hand. "Together then?"

Dean clasped his arm, curling strong fingers around Sam's elbow. "All the way."

"Alfred." Arms still locked, Sam held Dean's gaze. "Take us into Hell."

#

Before Dean registered what was happening, Alfred tossed his large head and Dean was thrown onto the back of one of the pack, his grasp ripped away from Sam's as the kid was likewise tossed onto Alfred's back. Hellhounds apparently didn't wait around to discuss business, just got to work. Dean could respect that.

He didn't even have the time to say 'what the hell?' before they were hurtling across the ground at blurring speed. To say it was a smooth ride would be a monumental exaggeration. The large muscles bunched beneath him, rocking him like a cork in a stream.

Leaning low, Dean wrapped arms around the huge neck and just hung on, screaming when they pushed through earth and rock and the cells of his body seemed to implode. He wondered if his body had transformed into smoky wisps the same as the hounds, but found he didn't care just so long as they made it through this solid depth of rock.

They burst through into the dark glow of Hell fire and agonized screaming—the type of grating hopelessness Dean wished to never hear again. As he rode the beast's back, Hell sped before him like horrifying suppressed memories jammed together in blurring succession—bloody pulps strung on hooks and chains, unrecognizable bodies stretched on racks and left to rot, monsters fighting over scraps with creatures too hideous for even Dean's imagination to conjure.

His vision grayed, too much too fast to take in. He swallowed down bile, tasting of Hell's acid in his throat and curling his fingers within the sleek fur, he sought the one thing with any ghost of a chance to ground him. Turning his cheek to rest on the rolling muscle, Dean looked sideways and found Sam.

His brother rode Alfred in a mirror position to Dean's—laying forward and hanging on for his life—and staring back at him.

With that look, all the memories crashing around him faded away.

They were in Hell, but they were not defeated. And they were together.

_Impossibly_ the Hellhounds slowed, hind quarters solidified into tail and legs until they stopped altogether in front of a pulsing shimmery box no larger than the size of their standard motel rooms.

Opaque behind the wall, two Archangels argued, hands gesturing wildly. Dark and light, both beyond beautiful.

The light angel guided someone farther behind him, turning slightly as he shouldered the dark being away and Dean caught a glimpse of who he shielded.

_"Adam," _he breathed, every muscle in his body turned to putty.

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_"Adam." E_very muscle in Dean's body turned to putty. He couldn't believe it. The kid was right there. Dean slid from the Hellhound's back, his boots hitting on solid rock.

So this was Lucifer's Cage? All bright and shiny and so elastic looking, it amazed him that such thin transparent walls could keep the two most powerful Archangels in existence imprisoned.

"Little Sammy Winchester." A ruddy-faced demon walked towards his brother with several more demons at his back. "You've got large ones to come back down here. And look." His black eyes tracked toward Dean. "You brought us a snack."

All the demons laughed, perched on the balls of their feet, muscles bunching in preparation to leap.

The hounds moved in front of Sam and Dean, growling low in their throats.

"Easy." Dean patted Alfred's side and felt the deep vibration humming through the animal's lungs.

Sam lifted the scroll. "I've every right to be here."

Wary, the demons shifted back, glancing one to another. Murmurs rolled through them.

As though they were beneath his notice, Sam turned his back on the horde to face the flowing box. Dean wondered if anyone but him noticed how Sam fisted the scroll so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Lucifer!"

Within the Cage, the Archangels turned as though this was the first they noticed anything outside the box.

Adam stopped dead still. He looked from Sam to Dean, disbelief and hope warring across his young features. All at once he started trembling.

Lucifer sauntered toward the wall, robe flapping behind him like dark wings.

Sam's throat worked. Coming face to face with his constant nightmare would unnerve anybody. Dean saw the twitch in his jaw, the tightening of muscles in Sam's arm, the little sway as Sam fought the urge to retreat back.

Moving quickly, Dean went to Sam and stood arm to arm at his side. This is what he was here for.

So slight no one else would notice, Sam nodded once. His chest expanded with resolve and he lifted the scroll higher.

"I challenge you, Lucifer, for Hell's throne. By law, I claim my right as King of Hell."

The demons roared. Dean couldn't tell if the sound was triumphant or horrified. Probably a mixture of both. More and more demons appeared. Coils of smoke buzzed across the air, solidifying into mock representations of smoky humans as the cavernous space filled with the inhabitants of Hell.

Dean swallowed, knowing however this went down, getting out of here was going to be a bitch.

Abruptly, the demons quieted. A piercing whine shrieked upon the air. The Hellhounds whimpered, rubbing forelegs across their ears as though flicking away flies.

The whine pierced the center nerve in Dean's skull. He covered his ears and saw Sam do the same.

The ground rocked. A second time. And a sharp crack splintered the air.

Blinding light spilled through the cavern. The demons screamed. Coils of smoke sped away.

Dean's shout for his brother was torn away in the cacophony. He looked up to see the Cage rippling. Light and energy poured from long jagged cracks.

A thunderous boom washed over them, knocking Sam and Dean off their feet.

The light blinked out.

The ground and air settled. Dean wrenched his head up.

And the Cage was . . . Gone.

Lucifer strode forward and dragged Sam off the ground.

"No." Dean shouted though it came out as a mangled hiss.

"Sam!" Adam's voice struck louder. The blond Archangel, Michael, pulled the kid back, restraining him from rushing to Sam.

Lucifer held Sam up by his collar as easily as if he were a child. Sam's feet dangled above the ground. "Thank you, Samuel." Satan almost looked amused. "I must say, I never expected to see you again. And certainly not issuing a challenge for my throne."

"It was the only way to get Adam out of the Cage." Sam didn't even bother to lie. But then after hundreds of years playing the serpent's games, Lucifer would spot a lie in a second.

"Ah." The dark angel set Sam back on his feet and dusted Sam's shoulders off like the coating of sulfur and who knew what else on the kid offended him. "But a challenge? Really? When I can break your neck with a snap of my fingers?"

Dean pulled slowly to his feet, his heart lodged in his throat and looked around for something, anything to help Sam.

"I demand a fair fight, brother." Michael stepped forward, pulling Adam with him.

Lucifer swiveled. "Fair?" He laughed. "I'm the strongest of all beings. Should I not use any angelic powers, I still have endurance the boy will never have. He will never have a fair chance and well you know it." He turned back to Sam, true concern etched in his expression. "Sam, rescind your challenge. Remain here with me. I'll be kind."

"The challenge has been issued. It has to be met." He shoved the scroll at Lucifer's chest even as his hands shook.

"Don't force this, Sam. Believe it or not, I've missed you. I've missed our time together. I'll make it easy on you, Sam." Satan cocked his head and took the scroll. "Rescind the challenge, stay here with me willingly and I'll allow one of your brothers to leave. I'll even let you choose which one."

Sam slanted a helpless glance toward Dean. Dean held it. _I'm with you. All the way_.

"It's a good trade." Lucifer reached out and ran a lock of Sam's hair through his fingers, lingering at the ends by Sam's neck. "The alternative is that I win, and I get all three Winchesters as my pretty playthings for eternity. "

A tremor rolled through Sam, but he lifted his chin. Dean had never felt more proud or more terrified.

"No," Sam whispered.

Lucifer tapped his lips. "Can't say I'm surprised. Especially since I know you plan to ride the Hellhounds out. But you forget, once I win, I'll be the master of the hounds. They won't listen to you anymore."

Dean stiffened. Oh crap.

"Sam," Satan's tone was placating, almost gentle. "I'm an Archangel. You know you can't beat me."

"I know." Sam looked to Dean again. "But right this second, the hounds still listen to me. Alfred! Get Dean and Adam out of here. Never bring them back!"

Before Dean understood what was happening, his shoulder was in Alfred's mouth and they were soaring across the swollen expanse of Hell. Dean pulled at the oversized jaw to get free, to just drop anywhere in Hell and he'd fight his way back to Sam, but the hound only clamped down harder. Alfred would probably tear through his muscle if that was the only way to obey Sam's last command.

"Alfred, please. Take me back, take me back," Dean plead against the muzzle, staring into the red eyes.

The walls and passages blurred around them in a nauseating rush. Dean tried to find Adam among the phalanx of bunching and stretching muscle, but the speed they traveled made it too disorienting to lift his head and look at anything beside the large mutt's shiny rolling coat. The nausea grew worse as the pack passed through rock and impossibly dragged them with them up through layers and layers of stone and earth. Dean's teeth rattled. He was on the barest edge of remaining conscious when all at once the pressure ceased.

Like a switch had been flipped, sensations shifted. The world no longer moved around him or tried to suffocate every cell in his body. Warm air blew across his skin. The honking of a car alarm sounded from a distance. His palms and knees pushed n dirt, so sensitized he swore he could distinguish larger granules. Bright daylight stretched his shaky shadow across the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Dean pushed up and ignited a headache that chiseled behind his eyes. Someone retched behind him.

_Sam_.

Dean swung around so fast the chisel at his skull went on overdrive.

_Not Sam. Adam._ The realization crashed into him like a tsunami wave and Dean didn't think he'd ever resurface.

On his knees, Adam wavered, about to take the plunge into his own waste. Crawling, Dean got to him and hauled the kid back. They were in an empty unpaved parking lot in the back of a bricked building. Not a Hellhound in sight.

"Sam," Adam wailed. "He's still in there." He lunged sideways and started clawing in the dirt. "We have to get back there."

Dean wanted to howl and start digging with him. Instead he grabbed Adam's arms, shook him. "There's a million tons of rock between us and Hell. The Hellhounds are the only way to get through it." Jagged pain lanced through his heart at having to say those words.

Adam shoved him away and kept digging. Dean sat back on his heels and let him expend his energy.

When he had a hole up to his elbows Adam sagged back. "He stayed behind to get us out." His entire body shuddered. He lifted tear-filled eyes to Dean. "Why would he do that?"

_Because that's exactly what he would have done._ Unable to voice it, Dean simply shook his head. He dug through his pockets to find his phone, vaguely wondering if riding into Hell would've had any effect on the life of its battery.

Bobby barked when he answered. "Where the Hell have you been? You dumbasses up and disappear. No Hellhounds around—"

"Bobby," Dean croaked and the old man instantly quieted. "I need you to come get us."

His fingers tightened as he realized that the "us" didn't include Sam.

**TBC**

**One chapter left. Can you believe it? **


	12. Final Chapter

**Chapter Twelve**

Weeks passed. Adam poured all his energies into research. Turned out he also had picked up an ear for dead languages while in Hell, but no longer having the scroll of Hell's Laws, he wasn't finding anything useful.

Dean came and went. It hurt to stay around the salvage yard to see Adam hunched over old texts in the same chair Sam had preferred.

He tried to summon crossroad demons, but no one would show. In fact all demonic activity was quiet. He screamed for hours for Alfred to come back, even yelling out promises of the largest ball of twine to fetch, but the Hellhounds never burst onto the scene and the implications of that, that Sam was no longer their master, or Dean by default, plummeted his last grasp on hope.

Lisa left several voice messages, but Dean couldn't bring himself to replay them. As much as he cared for her, he couldn't go back to her as though everything was the same.

Nothing was gaddamned the same.

Which was why Dean found himself back at Bobby's, sitting on the Impala in the dark, drinking flat beer and missing Sam so badly he thought his heart would splinter under the weight.

Footsteps crunched on gravel. Adam reached to touch the hood of the car, yet held back as though he didn't have the right to touch her. "I miss him."His tone was quiet.

Dean stiffened, hearing inflections of Sam. Canting his head, he studied Adam through the corners of his eyes and his heart hitched at the sloping creases in the kid's forehead. He'd known Adam as a ghoul and as Michael's vessel, but only for a few brief moments as himself, angry and sarcastic, wanting to believe Zachariah could get him back to his mom. Dean hadn't known that Adam's eyes could appear so damn vulnerable . . . and look so much like Sam's.

He looked away.

"You know . . ." Adam shuffled from one foot to the other. "One of the things Sam missed the most down there were the stars."

Dean took a pull from his beer. "He told you that?"

Adam nodded. They both grew quiet, thoughtful.

"He also liked hearing about my mom." Adam's smile was sad. "He wanted to know everything. What brand of mac and cheese she made, was she the kind of mom that liked sports? Did she read bedtime stores or sing lullabies?"

Dean rolled the neck of the bottle between his finger and thumb. "Yeah. Sam would want to know all about those kind of things." He didn't want to hear this, not from Adam. Yet, he was desperate to hear anything about Sam.

"Yeah." Hands in his pockets, Adam rocked back and forth on his heels. His face lifted skyward.

Without looking to the side, Dean passed his beer to Adam and nodded when the kid inched closer and hesitantly took it. "So, did she?"

Taking a swallow, Adam handed back the beer and edged over to sit on the hood beside Dean. Sam's spot. "She what?"

"Your mom—Kate. Was she into sports?"

Adam's lips quirked into a genuine grin. "Pro wrestling."

"You're kidding."

"Every Saturday. She knew every wrestler and all their drama. She'd yell at them through the TV."

Grinning, Dean nodded, reconciling his brief image of ghoul Kate with the petite nurse rooting for her favorite wrestlers.

They talked on, each relating their own stories. By the time Dean told Adam about John mistaking a little old granny for a soul-sucking harpy and sputtering apologies after nearly gutting her while she whacked him repeatedly with an umbrella, Dean and Adam were both holding their stomachs in laughter.

When the laughter ebbed, Dean turned to look at Adam. Sam loved this kid and the kid loved Sam, had given Sam something to fight for. Adam's presence in Hell was probably the only thing that kept Sam from breaking—because he couldn't afford to. That meant something. As an older brother, Dean got that.

"You know," he said. "Sam was determined to get you out. Him being in there isn't your fault."

Adam's eyes lifted to him and he nodded once, though Dean could tell he didn't really believe it. They slipped back into silence and looked up at the stars.

#

Two days later, Dean was in the basement, searching for a pig's snout. No demons would deal. He couldn't believe he was resorting to witchcraft. Bobby said the ritual could at least give them a glimpse into Hell, like a weird crystal ball, and they'd at least know what was going on down there. Witchcraft or not, it was worth it to Dean. He hoped Bobby got back soon from gathering more of the rarer ingredients from Rufus.

"Dean!" Adam's shout raised all the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. The tone was full of terror. "Dean!"

He'd never gotten up the stairs so quickly. Gun drawn, Dean slammed out of the front door.

There in the yard with his back to him, stood a golden haired man in thick robes.

Adam, also with his back to him, stood between him and the stranger. A swell of protectiveness surged into Dean.

"Adam, get back."

Adam turned.

So did the stranger. _Angel. Michael._

The robes swirled with his movement, revealing what the Archangel held. Dean's breath caught in his lungs.

_Sam._

Michael cradled him like an infant, dark head resting on his chest, long legs and arms dangling limply. He was filthy and bloody, clothes torn, and for one horrifying moment Dean thought the Archangel was returning Sam's corpse.

Dean flew down the steps, shoving his pistol back in his waistband, and not caring about the recklessness of it, grabbed Sam out of the angel's arms.

He immediately went to his knees beneath the dead weight.

Adam was there, easing them both down before they could topple. The kid pawed at Sam's torn shirt, pushing it up to get to Sam's stomach. "Where's he hurt?"

Michael placed a hand on Adam's shoulder. "I healed him. He merely sleeps."

Dean's head shot up. His heart flared to life. "So . . ." His throat felt like gravel. _Michael healed Sam. Sam was okay._ "So, Sam won?"

Michael's features turned sorrowful. He shook his head. "He had no hope of winning. Your brother fought long and hard while my brother played with him like a cat to mouse. Yet every time he was beaten down, Samuel got back up. For such a fragile insignificant species, I have never witnessed the like."

"So, what?" Adam asked, apparently undeterred by the faraway look on Michael's face. "Lucifer just let him go?"

"Oh no." Michael's gaze flickered into something hard. "My brother would never have let his vessel go."

"Then how . . .?" Dean cried. Sam's head rolled on Adam's arm.

Michael smiled. "The moment Samuel could no longer lift himself off the ground, the Serpent won his throne and in so doing was bound by all the laws of Hades, including the Law of Innocents."

Dean frowned, wishing Sam would wake up. Why wasn't he waking up?

"Hell cannot keep a soul who has not been damned."

Adam gasped. "Sam beat the devil by losing to him?"

Michael beamed. "Lucifer is as imprisoned by his throne as he ever was inside the Cage. All is as it should be. The Morning Star reigns his kingdom, and I . . ." He looked fondly down at Sam. "I've much to redeem myself for. Beginning with the chaos left in Heaven."

The Archangel lowered, robes puffing up around him, and rested his fingers on Sam's cheek. "Awake, Samuel." And with that he disappeared in the sound of fluttering wings. A huge draft of air ruffled the brothers' clothes and hair.

"Mmmmmph." Sam moaned and the heavy piece of ice that had been Dean's heart for weeks started to thaw. He met Adam's tearful gaze, then shifted back to Sam who was rousing against him.

"Sam." Dean kissed the top of the dirty sweaty hair. He couldn't help it.

The dark lashes fluttered, lifting, finally revealing those soulful hazels he thought he'd never see again.

"Oh Sam." Breaking on a sob, Dean crushed him to him and felt Adam's arms slip around them both. Dean snaked his arm between Sam's side and arm to grab onto Adam's back and haul him in closer and felt the kid silently sobbing.

This. This was right.

These were his brothers.

Both here and together and alive. And his.

_**FIN**_


End file.
